Collateral Damage
by Tomoe2
Summary: Set after the events of Children of Earth Day five but before Jack leaves the earth.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Jack was driving the car UNIT had given him on a bumpy country road. It was that time of the day when the sunlight gives a golden glow to everything. A soft breeze was making the trees lining the road sway gently. The air was fragrant and aside from the sound of the car zooming by, everything was quiet and peaceful. The driver, however, was completely unaware of the beauty surrounding him. His face was impassive and an outside observer couldn't have helped but wonder if the man was actually human or stone.

The gravel crunched under the tires as the car finally came to a stop in front an immense Victorian area house. Before he had time to step outside his car, a butler dressed in black came to open the door for him. Jack stepped out and looked around. The place hadn't changed in years. It was as if this place was also a fixed point in time. Then again, that had been his doing. He had wanted to keep the memories of his deceased wife alive and had purchased the mansion as soon as she had passed. Luckily, he hadn't had to fight for it with his sons as they had both died during the war. Now, he completely changed the staff every ten years, making sure to hire people from outside the country. It was empty most of the time but he didn't care. It was his one place of refuge and he wanted it to be ready whenever he needed asylum from reality. The last time he had been here had been when he had inherited of Torchwood. He remembered the snowstorm he had had to brave to make his way here. It would have been foolish for anyone else to drive in those conditions. Jack however, had had nothing to lose.

Finally coming back to reality, he stepped away from the car and entered the house. Although all the windows were open the woodwork was dark and kept the house cool and dark. He avoided looking at the paintings of long gone people and stared at the ceiling. The chandeliers were sparkling and not a moth of dust could be seen. Everything looked pristine. Unchanged. Just like him.

His mind miles away, he started when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked down to see the staff lined up, waiting for his orders. He had never met any of them and he noticed that some of the girls we swooning over him. He would probably have enjoyed it at a different time but now, he was slightly annoyed by it. His tone was harsher then he had wanted it to be.

"I will go to my quarters. I am to be left alone. I want my meals left in front of my door. I will ring if I need anything. I am not to be disturbed under any circumstance."

He didn't see the staff nod for he walked away before they could even move. He walked briskly through a long corridor pierced with tall windows on one side, feeling his pulse quicken and his head buzzing. He could feel his staff eyes on him and fought to keep his countenance. He finally made a sharp right turn and disappeared from their sight. He stopped a moment to lean on the wall, hands trembling, legs shaking. Then, as if in a dream he walked the last few steps separating him from the dark carved door of his apartments. He barely had the force to push them open. His vision was blurry and he could barely see inside his living quarters when he finally managed to get in. As soon as the doors closed behind him he slid against the warm solid wood and sat on the cool marble floor. He was trembling violently and although he was sweating abundantly, he felt chilled to the bone.

He closed his eyes, finally giving himself the permission to tap in that infinite sadness that plagued him. He had thought that tears would come almost instantly but nothing happened. He could feel the pain and the loss and yet, there was no way to let it out in the open. He had shed a few tears with Gwen earlier that day, but even then, he had restrained himself. He had had to be strong for the two of them. Then there had been his grand-son. He didn't even dare think of his name for the hurt was too great. He had lost everything with that boy. And yet, he had not been able to cry.

"Sir?"

The voice startled him into opening his eyes. He looked up. Wearing a three-piece suit and looking down at him with his pale blue eyes, he was there. Jack jumped to his feet. It was him. Ianto! Jack reached out for him and pulled him close to his chest, hugging him in a tight embrace, burying his head in his lover's neck.

"I knew, I knew it couldn't be true. I knew it, Ianto. It couldn't possibly…"

Jack's voice broke and tears started to escape his shut eyes.

"Sir?"

Upon hearing the man's voice a second time, Jack slowly came to the realization that something just wasn't right. He pushed his partner away, holding him by the shoulders to take a good look at him. He instantly realized his mistake. The man was the correct height and age and in the darkness of the room, his pale eyes had contributed to fool Jack. This was no Ianto. The person was just one of his staff and he looked quite shaken. Jack wiped his cheeks but fresh tears wet them instantly. He could do nothing but stand there and look at the young man.

"Sir, are you alright?"

Jack shook his head, obviously not ok.

"Would you like me to bring you something?"

Impressed by the man's professionalism under the circumstances but unable to speak for fear that he would burst into uncontrollable sobs, he shook his head again. The other man, unsure of what to do, finally took his leave after a quick bow, leaving Jack standing alone in his apartments.

Suddenly, the room was spinning the floor became as soft as quicksand. Jack stumbled forward and barely made it on time to the bathroom where he was violently sick in the sink. His body racked by tremors, he held on to the cool marble, his knuckled whitened by the effort. When he was finally done, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, coughing, and ran the water. Then, he slowly sat down, letting his head lean back against the wooden cabinet. He felt weak and helpless. Tears started running along his temples and down to his neck. The terrible ball of pain he had been carrying inside his chest for the past few days was starting to unravel.

A sob escaped his lips and the echo of the sound on the wall of the bathroom made him instinctively cover his mouth with his hand. What an ugly sound. The sound of pain and hurt. These walls remembered it too well and had witnessed his misery many years before. Such irony that he should mourn the loss of his lover in the house of his deceased wife.

The thought made him laugh. It was more a croak, really. A sob soon followed and, letting his hand down, Jack cried. He cried the loss of Ianto and the death of his grand-son. He cried for Owen and for Tosh. He even cried for Suzy. He felt the weight of their deaths and he knew they would have been still alive hadn't he walked into their lives. It was unbearable. Slowly, he hugged his knees and rested his head on top of them, each sob wringing more pain from his soul.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Jack opened his eyes. Disoriented, he looked around to realize that he was still sitting in the bathroom. Fresh tears sprung out of his eyes. He let them roll as he got up. His back was killing him. Sleeping sitting up on cold marble probably hadn't been the best idea ever. He looked at himself in the mirror. Even in the darkness, he could tell that his eyes were red and puffy. He ran the water, waiting for the lukewarm water to give way to icy cold water from the well. He splashed his face and rinsed his mouth. He wiped his face with the soft white towel hanging from a hook and distracted left it by the sink, not noticing when it slipped to the floor. It was now completely dark outside, or so he presumed as no more light was coming from between the heavy curtains. He walked to the windows and pulling back the curtains he looked at the night sky. Strangely, the sky was clear and the stars were visible. He pushed the latch and pulled the window open. The night air entered the room, carrying with its fresh scent, the sound of crickets and frogs singing in unison. He wondered if Ianto would have liked a night like this one.

Turning his back to the beauties of the night, he walked to a small table on which several expensive looking glass decanters filled with amber liquid rested. He hesitated a moment, not sure of which to choose. Then setting his heart on the simplest one, he removed the lid and poured the golden liquid in a finely chiseled glass. He raised his glass up as if toasting to something or someone, then swallowed the alcoholic beverage in one long gulp. He then proceeded to fill his glass anew.

And so, he repeated these steps a great many times until he was unable to stand anymore. He eventually came to sit surrounded with empty expensive antic decanters and a few broken murano glasses. He had cut himself a few times in the process but healing as fast he did, he had not paid attention. He was now completely drunk, dangerously walking the line between consciousness and oblivion.

"What a sight. Where is the Jack Harkness I know? Where is the man who only drinks water to be ready to save the universe at any time of the day or night?"

The familiar voice startled Jack who dropped his glass which shattered with a marvellous sound on the pale marble. The man struggled to get to his feet but finding himself unable to do so, he gave up and raised his hand, blindly searching for another glass on the top of the cabinet. Finding none, he decided to drink directly from the decanter. Whoever the voice belong to, the entity did not approve.

"Have you seen yourself? You're truly pathetic."

Jack, who had been close to dozing off, jerked his head up, trying to locate the origin of the voice. He scrutinized the hazy room and his tired eyes finally fell on the shape of a man sitting in an armchair by the window. He concentrated to see the intruder but this only contributed to make him feel dizzier. The decanter still in hand, he resolved to get closer to the voice by walking on all four. The operation proved to be nearly impossible and it was a miracle if he managed to get close enough to the chair without spilling most of his drink or slipping forward and slicing his face of a shard of glass. Unable to get any closer for fear that he would be sick all over the thick carpet; he sat up about two meters away from his visitor. He raised his eyes to look at him and was only mildly surprised when he saw cold blue eyes looking back at him in disapproval.

"I know y… you. You… you… work for… for me."

The man nodded although Jack's slur made most of his words incomprehensible.

"How… How did you…"

A loud belch interrupted his inquiry and for a moment he looked like he was going to be sick. The moment passed but he seemed to have forgotten his question. The young man looked at him.

"You called me here, Jack."

The way the man had pronounced his name broke his heart. Only one person ever said his name with this much love.

"Ianto?"

The young man nodded. Jack's face twisted in to a painful grimace as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. He tried to reach forward but Ianto stopped him before he could start moving.

"You don't want to do that, Jack."

Jack did not understand but he felt a pang of pain.

"Are you here, Ianto? Are you real?"

Jack looked at his lover intently. He wanted to take him in his arms, caress him, kiss him, burry hi head in neck and smell his soft skin. Tears rolled on Ianto's cheeks.

"I'm real, Jack. I'm real as all the memories your brain holds."

Jack covered his face with his hands and let out a sob.

"I'm a manifestation of your imagination. A form created by the memories you have of me and what you wish I were, were I still alive."

"No! Stop it!"

Jack covered his hears with his hands, burying his head in his knees but the voice continued, from within his head.

"I love you…"

Ianto's voice broke, just like it had broken when Jack had been holding him as he was slowly dying. Jack roared with pain.

"STOP IT!"

He could hear Ianto cry. He was sobbing, just like when they had shot Lisa. Except now, his sobs were for Jack. He wanted it to stop, but he knew he was the one making it all happen. In his current state of inebriety, he had no way of collecting his thoughts and make the madness stop. But it had to stop, or he would go mad.

Suddenly, and idea popped into his painful head. Yes. That would work perfectly.


	3. Chapter 3

Warning: This scene is a bit gross… and then graphic. You have been warned ;)

Chapter 3

Jack woke up in a start, loudly gasping for air and half expecting to lie in Ianto's lap. He was, however, alone. Reaching frantically for some hold, his hand hit the hard marble of the bathroom counter top. His slippery fingers could not quite grasp the cold surface and he ended up hitting his head on the floor as he fell backward. He cursed, his hand instinctively reaching for the back of his head. His found that his hair was wet and sticky and, as if he had suddenly got his senses back, smelled the horrible stench of the room he was in. It was a gruesome odor, a mix of all possible human filths mixed with something else. Gingerly, he put his right elbow on the floor to prop himself up. It was covered in some kind of viscose liquid. He shuddered. He had seen quite a lot of gross stuff, but this was truly disgusting. Finally sitting up, he looked down at himself and realised he was covered in the dark slime. Lucky thing he wasn't wearing his coat.

_I really missed that coat._

Ianto. Has he thought the name, the event of the previous night came back to him in a flash. He reeled as images of the apparition overcame him. Had he been that drunk? He must have been to dream up such a thing. Trembling, but not letting his emotions take control of him like they had the previous night, he stood up and switched on the light. He looked around and the sight was so disgusting that he automatically switched them back off.

"Oh god…"

He frowned; trying hard to remember the last things he had seen and done the night before. He turned on the light anew, resolving to look at his own bathroom as he would a crime scene. First of all, the floor was covered with a darkish liquid, almost transparent in some areas and darker in other. Then, there was the blood. There was a gigantic splatter of blood on the wall, opposite to the cabinet. He then looked at himself. The front of his shirt was covered in the same dark liquid that coated the floor and there were no traces of blood. He turned around to see his back's reflection in the mirror. It was sullied with dark blood, which was also caked at the base of his neck and in his hair. He now had a good idea of what had happened but he was still missing a piece. He walked toward the bathtub which was smeared with blood. The floor was slippery and he had to hold on to the wall to avoid slipping in the goo, thus making strange wall paintings as he went.

He finally found what he was expecting in the bathtub itself: a classic hunting rifle. Jack couldn't help but smile. How clever he had been, notwithstanding his drunkenness. He had done the only thing that could silence his mind for a while: he had killed himself. He started to laugh, amazed at his own genius.

He leaned down to touch the bath with his open hands and admired his work. Judging by the splatter pattern, he had most likely been sitting with his feet in the bathtub, his back to the door. He had then shot himself, expecting his weight to pull him forward. He had been quite silly in thinking that the shot would not hurl him backward. Now the dark liquid on the floor and his shirt was most likely sick. Had he been sick before or after? He reached for his bottom and recoiled immediately. After. He had definitely been sick after he had died. What a mess.

The hot steamy water fell like a present from the gods after the hour he had spent knees and hands in grim. He could have asked his staff to clean the bathroom, but then he would have had to explain the blood and his mind was not clear enough yet to contrive convincing stories. And, to be honest, he was a bit ashamed. It had been truly disgusting. He had managed to save most of the room but the carpet and wallpaper were ruined and would have to be replaced. He did not even dare think of his clothes. He would burn them at the first occasion he got. He could not remember the last time he had drunk like that. At least, when he died after having drunk water, the mess was a whole lot easier to clean. He, of course, had never mentioned that detail to the team. At least, killing himself meant that he did not have a hangover.

As he was washing his hair, he tried to figure out what that manifestation of Ianto had been. Had it been all a dream, or just, ad his lover had said, a manifestation of his imagination? The image was unclear and the memory hazy at best; he had been too drunk. As he was tidying up, he had tried several times to conjure the image of his lover, but to no avail. No matter how hard he had tried to call him forth, the man had eluded him.

Jack rinsed his hair and started to wash his body with the soft blue loofah he had found dangling from the tap. As he was cleaning himself, his mind started to wander.

_Jack, get out of here! I'm trying to shower not get dirtier!_

_Ianto was standing naked in his shower, under the hub. He was covered in soap suds. His wet hair made him even sexier. Jack stepped in and closed the glass door behind him. Ianto was about to protest but Jack swiftly pulled him to his chest and started to ravage his mouth with kisses. Ianto pushed back, managing to get his mouth free for a moment._

_Jack.. The others will arrive soon. We can't…_

_Ianto gasped as his lover grabbed his fast hardening cock. He moaned, letting go of the loofah and grabbing jack's buttocks to pull him closer. Jack kissed him again and this time, Ianto kissed back, his mouth aching to feel his lover's lips. Jack hand was still stroking him, teasing the tip of his shaft with his thumb. Ianto groaned and, freeing his mouth, slowly made his way down on his knees, kissing Jack's body._

Jack had let go of the sponge and grabbed his hard cock in his wet hand while he leaned on the wall for support with the other.

_Ianto was teasing him with the tip his tongue, his hand still clasped on his buttocks. Then, without warning, he took him. Jack moaned with a pleasure which doubled as his lover started to suck him. The pleasure was intense and he was startled when Ianto suddenly stopped. He looked down to see the man suck his fingers to cover them with saliva. Then, as he slipped his lover's cock in his mouth again, he started to push at his opening, gingerly at first, as if hesitating, then with more strength, encouraged by Jack's cries of pleasure._

_Fuck… Ian… Ianto..._

Jack's hand was going faster as the memories of his lover overpowered him.

_Ianto, busy at work with his mouth, pushed one finger in, then another. Jack jerked forward with pleasure. He felt as if his cock was going to explode. His legs were weak and he feared that they would buckle under his weight. He wanted to enjoy the pleasure longer but, unable to hold it anymore, he came in Ianto's mouth with a roar._

Jack came with a loud moan. He remained immobile under the water a moment, not wanting the feeling to go away just yet. His breathing was ragged, he was trembling. He felt so good. His eyes closed, he finally leaned against the wall of the shower, basking in the moment.

"It was a really good fuck, I must admit."

Jack opened his eyes. Facing him, on the other side of the glass, was Ianto.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jack stood as if petrified, looking at Ianto. His presence made no sense. Although he didn't like to admit it, his lover was dead. He knew for a fact that there were no such things as ghosts. And most important of all, he wasn't drunk anymore. So if this was no bloody hallucination, what the hell was it?

"As I said yesterday, Jack, I'm the child of your fertile mind.

Jack jumped, startled.

"Oh come on. Don't be like this. Of course I can read your mind, that's where I come from!"

Ianto's voice was loud and clear despite the running water. Yet, it wasn't as if it was coming from inside his head. It was definitely outside.

"Are you a ghost?"

Jack instantly felt ridiculous asking a question he knew the answer to but he just couldn't help it. What if he had been wrong all those years?

"Now, Jack, we both know that is a silly question," scoffed Ianto. "How about you finish your business here; I will wait for you in the living room."

Without awaiting Jack's answer, the apparition left the room, leaving him in a state of utter confusion.

Jack walked out of the bathroom, half expecting Ianto to have vanished. Yet, he was there, waiting for him in the same fauteuil he had seen him sitting the previous night. He made his way gingerly, fearing that brusque movements would make him disappear. He finally came to a halt and leaned on the window sill, trying to remain calm, or at least, look the part.

He locked his eyes on Ianto, examining him from head to toe. As he did, he felt as if his appearance was changing in the process. It was hard to explain, but it was as if his eyes were making Ianto different each time they fell on a different part of him. When finally he set his eyes on Ianto's face, he was marvelled and terrorized to see the cut on his cheek suddenly appear and his eyes well up with tears.

"What's going on?"

He was fascinated and appalled at the same time.

"Nothing. It's all in your head. I'm just a reflection of your thoughts."

Jack shook his head.

"How is that possible? You have to be more than that! We're having a conversation, aren't we?"

Ianto shrugged.

"I'm just answering things that your brain already knows. Actually you should consider yourself lucky since I seem to be able to tap but in your consciousness and subconscious."

"That makes no sense. Tell me something I don't know."

Ianto smiled.

"That's impossible, as I just said. But I can tell you something you don't remember. Then again you may not be able to tell if it's something your brain knows. We can't be sure my words will trigger the memory and bring it back.

Jack raised an eyebrow, as if to say "try me."

Ianto laughed. Jack felt as if he had been washed over by a wave of warmth.

"Your last memory with your father is of a late afternoon spent playing ball on the beach until dusk."

Jack staggered, as if hit by a ton of bricks. This memory had been locked away for so long it made him reel. He looked at Ianto. His lover looked at him with sorrow in his eyes.

"This is correct."

"Of course it is. I'm you, after all."

Jack frowned, trying to grasp all this new information but failing to put it all together coherently. He walked a bit closer to Ianto, still keeping a little distance between them. His lover suddenly looked forlorn.

"Why are you sad?"

Ianto shrugged and avoided Jack's eyes.

"You seem to think that the wary way in which you treat me would make me sad."

"So you really are shaped from my thoughts..."

Ianto suddenly looked at him then rolled his eyes. Jack could not help but laugh. Then, a thought crossed his mind and he smiled slyly. As he had expected, he saw the bulge in Ianto's trousers grow bigger. He grinned.

"Can I touch you or will that make you disappear?"

Ianto's face was flushed with embarrassment and desire.

"I'm made of energy so, who knows?"

His voice was hoarse.

"You seemed to think that I would disappear last night. Then again, you realize that if you actually touch me, it would be nothing more than intellectual masturbation."

Jack shrugged. Masturbation surely was better than nothing. Slowly, he got nearer Ianto and leaned forward, using the armrests as support. He could smell his lover's scent. His cologne, his sweat... He pictured him naked and as he expected, the apparition's clothes vanished. He admired the man's body, feeling the desire rise in his. As his lips were about to touch Ianto's, a sudden ring startled him. He looked away for one split second and to his great disappointment, the empty chair was the only thing his eyes met when he looked in front of him anew.

Disgruntled, he swore and sat down. He waited a moment hoping that the caller would give up. After the tenth ring, he got up, annoyed. Looking in his coat's pocket he found the cellphone UNIT had given him. Apparently they were too cheap to set him up with voicemail. He picked up and before he could even say anything, Gwen's voice blared from the other side of the line.

"Jack! Where the hell are you? Ianto's funeral is in less than an hour!"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

As usual, the rain was pouring down the black-clad members of the procession. Each of their steps turned the ground into a dark muddy field that reeked of finality. Tears were shed, sobs muffled and whispers exchanged. It was the same scene, rehearsed by humanity a million times and yet feeling like the premiere of a morbid play. Each time a first time, even more so in the unchanging truth of one immortal.

Jack had not been able to make it in time for the religious service and it had been for the best. The last thing he needed was to have his gaping wounds burning with the salt of tears. No matter the age or time, these proceedings were all similar and never failed to blur the space-time continuum. He did not care to mourn the long departed, nor the ones who had yet to live and die. And so, he had waited in the forecourt, letting the sky drench the coat Ianto had so loved.

Judging from the glare, Gwen's anger was only kept at bay by the propriety and the solemnity of the moment. Jack, however, cared little for her petty moods. The simple unadorned urn carried by his lover's sister had shocked him. He had expected a casket bringing forth the promise of one last glimpse and maybe – would he have dared! – one last kiss. Strong hands grabbing his upper arms made him realize he had lost his balance and would have toppled over had it not been for the diligence of the gentlemen he then identified as a stern Rhys and Ianto's red faced, usually jovial but now austere brother-in-law. Regaining his composure, he nodded at the men who let him go. The whole procession, which had stopped and witnessed this strange scene, started moving again. Jack reluctantly joined them, bringing up the rear.

It was a quiet sad affair and Jack kept stepping in and out of reality so often that he was actually surprised to find himself standing in front of the columbarium. The artisans of death were working on sealing the slab into place. In his mind a plan was forming. A folly, to say the truth. He smiled inwardly.

A sweet and once so alluring fragrance came floating, breaking the monotony of the monochrome perfume of the rain. A light hand fluttered to his face.

"Jack…"

He shushed her but looked at her for he knew that she wanted him to do so. She needed to be reassured, to know that the immutable Captain was still looking at her from behind these forlorn eyes. He gave her a frank smile. She was not fooled but still let him take her hand in his. A few steps behind, Rhys was once again witnessing a love Gwen would never share with him.

"I'm fine."

The lie echoed on the white stone with such clarity that the couple could not help but laugh at the preposterous utterance. The hilarity lasted a moment and ended up before they could be chastised by the staff. The line easily crossed, fresh tears started to roll on Gwen's cheeks. Jack stifled his.

"I just can't believe…"

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He refused to say the lines he knew to be his.

"You should go home. You can't take the risk of being sick."

Rhys seized the opportunity to step in and reclaim his role.

"He's right, love. Let's go."

Gwen reached for Jack's arm.

"Do you have a place to stay? Do you want to come home? I know it's small but the couch is…"

Tension. Jack shook his head and softly but firmly pushed Gwen in her husband's arms.

"I'm fine."

A solemn silence followed his utterance. Even the ever so voluble could not break the sanctity of the words. She nodded. Rhys extended his hand and Jack shook it. Then, he kissed Gwen on the forehead and turned around, setting his eyes on the now deserted columbarium. Soon, all sounds and noises faded, leaving only the rain's monotonous chant. Jack remained immobile for a long time, then, having weighted all the possible outcomes of what he was about to do, he stepped forward. His solitary footsteps echoed on the white marble.

He stopped a few step short of his lover's final resting place. In a solemn, slow movement, he raised his right hand and slowly traced, with the tip of his finger, the engraved letters. Ianto Jones. Suddenly, with a brusque movement, he closed his hand into a fist and made to pound the sound with it. He stopped an inch short of the marble plate. Then, he slowly lowered his hand.

"I wasn't expecting you anymore"

A snort, followed by the sound of military boots was the only reply he got. Without looking back, he extended his hand to the side just in time to catch the expertly thrown knife. Immediately, he started to work on the slab, using the blade a lever to dislodge the freshly embedded stone. The brown haired newcomer walked passed Jack and leaned back against the marble wall. His face showed nothing but utter disinterest.

"Seems like you're getting better at this."

"Nah. Their techniques are just getting worse with time."

As he said this, the stone came free and slipped out of his reach. Without skipping a beat, the other man caught it mid-fall.

"It appeared you still need ye ole Capt'n John Hart."

Jack ignored the smug smile on his ex-lover's face and grabbed his prize: Ianto's urn. Then, with an almost imperceptible jerk of the head, he gestured for John to put back the slab in place. The man rolled his eyes, sighed loudly but still moved to do what he had been asked. Jack, cradling what was left of Ianto, leaned back against the wall.

"You must have quite a collection by now."

"Had."

John interrupted his grunting and turned to Jack with a raised eyebrow.

"Had. U.N.I.T. blew up Torchwood."

John shook his head, his mouth slightly open and returned to his task. Jack looked at the rain falling on the muddy path. Finally done with his job, John embraced Torchood's leader shoulders. Contrary to his expectations, the man didn't lean towards him. He looked at the face he still loved so much. Jack's expression was unlike any he had ever seen. It made him feel strange inside; scared, even.

"So! Where do you want to do the usual crying and shagging?"

Jack suddenly broke free of John's embrace and walked away at a brisk pace. The latter frowned and caught up with his companion with a quick jog.

"What's going on? Where are you going?

"Ianto's."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The doors of the elevator slid open with a crisp "bing!" Jack walked out; followed by a curious John he did his best to ignore. He had tolerated the man so far but his patience was thinning. Taking a lonely key attached to a rabbit shaped keychain out of his coat's pocket, Jack stopped in front of a door marked with a shiny number 5. He slid the key in the lock, the trembling of his hands making the task a little difficult. He did not turn the key right away. He had never been to Ianto's flat.

Ianto had moved in the place a few weeks after he had joined Torchwood. The building belonged to Jack and upon knowing that the poor teaboy had been living in hostels for weeks, he had rented him the place for a ridiculously low price. In fact, he hadn't expected any money from Ianto, but the young man had insisted: he would not live off anyone's charity. Something in his eyes had quieted the usually augmentative captain. The place had been empty at the time and even after their relationship had evolved into something more than professional, Jack had never had the chance to come by and see what his lover had made of the place. In fact, Ianto had refused systematically to invite Jack. The latter had joked a lot about it, teasing the boy about gigantic inappropriate pictures adorning the wall of his flat. Ianto had always blushed uncomfortably at his lover's jest to the point where Jack had seriously wondered if he had been right on. At the moment, however, he cared little for such things. Taking a deep breath, he turned the key and pushed the door open a crack.

A strong hand pushed the door wide open. John, unnerved by Jack's circus of grief and lusting for the taste of his skin, walked by the object of his desire, his muddy boots leaving a trail on the otherwise pristine white tiled floor.

"Geez! The place is almost empty. Poor teaboy lived in an Ikea display!"

His last word had not yet echoed in the room that he found himself on his back, his head hitting the floor with a loud thud. Letting out a painful hiss, he looked up to see an angry faced Jack looking at him. He rolled on his side just in time to avoid the heavy muddy shoe that was aiming right for his face. He quickly got up on one knee, a hand behind his throbbing head.

"Have you lost it completely!"

Jack grabbed him by the front of his coat and slammed him against the wall.

"Get. Out."

His voice was low, calm. Even more frightening than the snarl on his face.

John puck his lips defiantly then raised his arms. Jack let him slide against the wall. John brushed the front of his coat and walked out, closing the door behind him. He heard Jack turn the locked and smiled smugly. The key was still in the lock.

Jack took a deep breath and removed his muddy shoes. The flat was actually a high ceiling studio with no divisions. He gingerly stepped up on the wooden floor, feeling as if he was intruding on someone's private life. He was surprised and also a bit annoyed to discover that John's comment was right on. The place, although decorated with good taste, was totally devoid of the personality of its inhabitant. To his left, he saw the small kitchen, all in whites, black and stainless. A blue kettle sitting on one of the burners was the only dash of colour in the room. Everything looked new, unused.

Everything except the barista.

Jack walked toward the counter to take a better look at the chrome machine. It had the luster of age yet it was spotless. Judging by its look, Jack judged it must have been made in the late forties. It was a real beauty. Jack sighed, remembering the taste of Ianto's coffee.

He then made his way to the bedroom which was only separated from the rest by a huge two sided bookshelf. The bed was made perfectly, the coverlet a deep navy blue and decorated with crisp white pillows and cushions. It looked soft and inviting but he dared not disturb it. Gigantic windows stretching across the whole of the wall to his right gave a great view of the city. Once again, like the rest of the apartment, they were spotless… almost. As Jack got closer, he noticed a greasy spot in the left farthermost glass pane. It was almost touching the frame and was a little higher than his eyes. Intrigued, he looked around on the floor and wall to see if there were similar stains. He found none. He sighed and leaned forward, his forehead touching the cold surface. Suddenly, he stepped back and looked at the window again. Yes! Of course!

Moving to the left, he tried to match his own forehead with the original stain on the glass. Then, he shifted the angle of his neck, trying to see what Ianto could have been looking at. He had almost twisted his neck to its limit when he caught a glimpse of it. It was the Wales Millenium Center, albeit a very small part of it, but there is was. Jack suddenly realized that it was the exact spot he liked to stand on when he wanted to watch the bay. He felt a poignant pang of sadness.

Not wanting to go there, he walked away from the windows to the closet. As soon as he opened the doors, Ianto's scent washed over him like a tidal wave of grief. He staggered and closed the doors, changing his mind. Sluggishly, he backed away until his feet were stopped by the base of the bed and he let himself fall back. A cloud of Ianto's scent instantly rose, suffocating him with solitude. He covered his eyes with his forearm, trying to ease the erratic beating of his heart.

"Why the hell did I come here?"

He swung his arm to his side and was about to get up when his eyes caught sight of something almost unbelievable. He propped himself on his elbow to take a better look. To his right, on the shelves, were lined close to a hundred identical little moleskin diaries. Ianto's diaries.

A whole life's worth.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

John woke up with a start, disoriented. He jumped up and took a fighting stance, ready for action. But there were no enemies about, only a long well-lit corridor with closed doors. Right. He was at the teaboy's flat, waiting for Jack to finish whatever the hell it was that he was doing in there. He stretched his numb limbs, scratched his crotch and gave a big yawn. He gave a quick glance to the doorknob: the key was still in. What time was it anyway? He took a look at his bracelet but the damn thing was still on the fritz. Angered, he banged the device against the frame of the door, hitting the bones of his wrist in the process. The man cursed and made to punch the wall when a muffled sound made him stop mid-swing. He furrowed his brow, listening closely. Nothing. He shrugged and was about to sit down anew when he heard it again. With an inappropriately gleeful expression, he stuck his ear to the door. His suspicions confirmed, he smiled and unlocked the door.

Shagtime at last.

Quiet as a wolf, he took off his shoes and tiptoed in the room. It was dark, the only light coming from behind a huge piece of furniture. He stayed in the shadow, listening to the sounds he knew too well. Sniffling. Muffled sobs. The concert had started and it was his turn to stand in the limelight. Relishing the passionate embrace, he started to move towards the source of all that noise. A loud wail stopped him dead in his tracks. Now _that_ was a first. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the strange feeling that was creeping inside his mind. Three steps later a painful sob stopped his progression again. He shivered. Yet his prize awaited and he wanted it, so he jumped into the light, in full view of Jack.

"Who needs a big…?"

The words died in his throat. Small dark notebooks were open at different pages all around his once lover, covering the bed and the floor with their interrupted stories. In the middle of this strange flower of words sat a broken Jack. His hands were clasped together between his thighs in an unorthodox prayer. He was rocking back and forth, his face contorted in a painful grimace, mouth open. Streams of tears had washed his face so many times already that his cheek offered wet reflections of the night stand's light.

John was petrified. He didn't know this man. He didn't know such pain. He didn't know what to do. What did people usually do in such a case? Well he had never really paid attention to other people so, there, that wouldn't be much help, would it? How about in movies? Any reference? Well he didn't really enjoy chickflicks…

While the man's mind was racing, Jack let out another loud sob, almost scaring the life out of him. Clearly unable to assess the situation and decide what to do, he went for the obvious: attack headfirst.

"Jack?"

His hopes that the man would meet him halfway remained unfulfilled. Either his ex-lover couldn't hear him or was pretending not to. He decided to close the distance between them and knelt in front of Jack. Slowly, after much hesitation and jumping at each sob and wail, he slowly put his hands on each side of the crying man's head. To his relief, Jack opened his red eyes and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. The unfathomable sadness of his gaze crushed John's heart right down to his soul. Such pain.

He had half expected Jack to push him away but he desperately gripped his shoulders and tried to say something that was lost in a torrent of sadness.

"Shhh, it's ok. Don't talk."

The words and the voice were his, yet they were so foreign to him in this moment that he could have sworn somebody else had said them. He tried to get Jack to lean onto him but the captain rebelled and stood up. He paced a moment, trying to talk but only sobbing every time he opened his mouth. John looked at him, unsure of what to do. Then, Jack stopped, grabbed one of the small notebooks and, kneeling in front of him, tried to show him something. By then he was sobbing so much that his face was a deep scarlet and no tears were coming out anymore. John's eyes, to his surprise, had taken the relay.

Ignoring what Jack wanted so pressingly to show him, he gently took the book out of the immortal's hand to put it on the floor next to him. Then, he stretched out his arms and embraced Jack. He didn't resist. And so, for the first time, John put all his heart in doing something that, up until now, had always been an excuse for comfort shag. For the first time, John consoled Jack.

"I've never…"

John was sitting on the bed, pillows propping him up against the wall. Jack was snuggled against him, a child in a man's body. Distractedly, John was caressing Jack's head. He stifled a yawn.

"All these things he wrote about me… "

His voice was hoarse and cracked on the last words. John tensed, fearing that the whole ordeal was about to start anew. Momentarily, he stopped petting Jack. The latter sighed deeply, swiftly wiped away a runaway tear and snorted. John exhaled and his hand resumed its task.

"I said things to him… I hurt him so much."

John was looking at their reflection in the windows. He sighed; this wasn't what he had planned. To tell the truth, he was bored and he had a head-splitting headache. Each of Jack's words was painfully hammering his brain. His mind started to wander on other topics in the hopes of ignoring the constant buzzing.

After a moment, he realized that the room was quiet. He closed his eyes, mouthing the words "thank you." He could have fallen asleep if a nudge hadn't made him look down and see the inquisitive look in the immortal's eyes.

Shit. He asked me a question, didn't he?

He cleared his throat.

"Ahmm… Yes?"

Jack frowned, looking a tad annoyed.

"You're not listening."

John puck his lips, weighing his options and their consequences.

"No. No I wasn't."

As soon as Jack made to get up John realized his mistake. He grabbed his arm.

"I mean yes. I mean… no. Jack it's bloody three am, I haven't eaten in I don't know how many hours and you…"

He made a significant gesture with his hands. Jack freed himself and got up to confront his ex-lover.

"You came to shag, I know that! This is unbelievable, I thought even you would have some respect!"

John's ears rang. How could he be such a drama queen when he probably had a headache as bad, if not worse than his? Tired, he decided to play the honesty card.

"Well yes. I came here for a shag and ended up with the equivalent of a crying maiden. What did you expect?"

Jack started to pace like a big cat in a cage, which, even under these circumstances, was quite sexy.

"I expect you to… I don't know! Be a friend!"

John sighed deeply, annoyed.

"We're no friends you and I, remember? You made that clear last time Grey tried to kill us all. I came here for sex and I doesn't seem like I'll be getting any."

John got off the bed and made for the door. Jack stopped him.

"You would like us to have sex on his bed!"

Jack's tone of voice was patronizing. John pursed his lips, looked at the bed, then back at Jack.

"It's not like he will be needing it anymore."

He didn't see it coming. Yet he had asked for it. Jack's punch sent him flying on his back. He hit the floor with a loud thud that did nothing to improve his headache. He started to laugh.

"The old Jack is finally coming back, it seems."

His comment went unanswered. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head he propped himself up on his elbows to look at Jack. The latter was standing at an angle to him but appeared to be looking at empty space in front of him.

"He's finally lost it." John muttered.

He was about to get up when her heard Jack speak clearly.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken him with me. Forgive me, Ianto."


End file.
